


Freakin' Out

by lemotmo



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Episode: s05e22 Memorial Day, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-10
Updated: 2005-09-10
Packaged: 2019-05-30 23:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15107228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemotmo/pseuds/lemotmo
Summary: Josh is on another guilt-trip following the events inMemorial Day





	Freakin' Out

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Freakin' Out**

**by:** Ellen 

**Character(s):** Josh  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna  
**Category(s):** Humouristic angst  
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Aaron Sorkin, et al  
**Summary:** Josh is on another guilt-trip following the events in 'Memorial Day'.   
**Spoiler:** Memorial Day  
**Written:** 10/18/04  
**Author's Note:** I wrote it, decided not to post it, read it again after a month and decided to post it anyway. I realise there's already tons of post-Memorial Day fics out there, so I'm just adding this one to the pile. Hope you like it! 

Dragging my hands through my hair, which is really not a good idea since I'm starting to suspect that a few more strokes might make baldness a permanent part of my life from this point on.

Pacing the halls until I've worn out the soles of the shoes my mom bought me. Blisters are forming between two toes on my left foot, but I'm not relenting. I deserve some pain for what I did. Yet, somehow, blisters forming on my feet doesn't seem to be an adequate punishment right now. I deserve so much more.

Okay then, standing up and sitting down again a few times in a row isn't working either. Frankly, the nurses are starting to send me funny looks as if I'm some middle-aged man that's smack in his midlife crisis, thinking that the exercise will make him look vibrant and young again. Yet, the only thing it seems to do to me is make my knees hurt.

Squeezing my eyes shut and opening them wide again until they are completely bloodshot. I feel like I've been awake for 7 days straight, living on a permanent, unrelenting caffeine high. A few migraine-spots are lurking on the edges of my vision and I know that it won't be long now before I'll succumb to a pounding headache. But, you know what? That's fine with me.

Going to the bathroom to empty my bladder until it hurts to even think about peeing. When I was squeezing out the last drop 20 minutes ago I actually felt faint and for a few moments I was sure that I would be finding myself head first into the toilet bowl if I didn't sit down for a moment.

Peering into the operation room isn't helping at all now. The upcoming migraine is making sure that I can't see anything but a white blur with moving green dots. I can't even watch her unmoving face anymore.

And lastly …

Praying, pleading and begging with 'whatever' that's supposed to be up there. Praying that 'He', 'She' or 'Something' will allow her to live and subsequently will allow me to live.

I can feel my control slipping away slowly.

You see, getting shot was a very unpleasant experience and up until a few days ago, if you would have asked me what the most horrible experience of my life was I would have definitely answered 'Rosslyn'. No doubt about it. Today, however, I would have to change my answer. Nothing can be as awful as waiting for the doctor's verdict to hear if she is going to live or die. I would gladly get shot again if it meant that Donna would live.

Ya know? That might not be the brightest idea I ever had, but it feels so true.

The thought of having to go on without her, scares me beyond anything else. I try not to think too much at what exactly that means. I mean, I could be wrong here, but I don't think a boss is supposed to feel like this over his assistant. This is no time for grand declarations though. This is a time to be humble. A time for waiting for the doctor to come out of that room and, like in old Roman times, give me the thumbs up for good news and the thumbs down for … well, the beginning of my existence between four white padded walls really.

So, I'm just sitting here. Nothing else I can do. I keep adding up all the painful things I feel and it's not nearly as much as she is experiencing right now. I don't know why, but for some reason I want to hurt myself real badly.

No, that's not true. I do know the reason. It's because of me she's in that operation room. I know what you are thinking. Did I rig the car to explode? No. Did I lure her to get into that car when she could have easily taken the other one? No. I did, however, put her on that plane to that godforsaken place and that is exactly how this … all of this … is my fault.

And knowing the situation … and knowing me, this will lead to some very unpleasant flash-backs and nightmares that I will no doubt experience the next time I fall asleep. It might even lead to distorted music, sirens and smashed windows.

I really thought that after my little break-down at Christmas a few years ago I would be okay again. I started to ease down again and music didn't have the edge to it that it used to have. I climbed out of that hole and felt safe again and then, totally unexpected, SMACK! They hit me with this.

So, now here I sit, trying to add up all the pain I'm causing myself in order to suffer. Let's see, permanent baldness and blistering toes combined with aching knees and an exploding head. My bladder still hasn't fully recovered yet. And as the crème de la crème, add a huge guilt complex on top of that with a dash of PTSD and a whiff of suicidal tendency.

How about that? Enough? Nope, not nearly enough. Still not enough to make me feel better, but there is nothing else I can do. Guess I'll just have to sit this one out. Banned to the bench when in that room there's a war raging. A war that can go both ways and will ultimately decide her … no … 'our' fate. And there is absolutely nothing I can do.

Suppose there's one thing that I haven't done yet. Something I've been wanting to do for days now, but couldn't 'cause I needed to be strong for her. But now I can, there's nothing to stop me.

So, there it is. I've decided. I'm now officially …

… freakin' out.

_'That's life and I can't deny it._  
Many times I thought of cuttin' out but my heart won't buy it.  
But if there's nothin' shakin' come this here July.  
I'm gonna roll myself up in a big ball a-and die.'

~THE END~ 


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